


come out and play

by free_cookiesx



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: POV Second Person, technoblade is touch starved, tommy dies but it is very brief and he gets better!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/free_cookiesx/pseuds/free_cookiesx
Summary: Your name is Technoblade, and you miss your family.See snow, won't let it in though // Leave home, feel the wind blow // 'Cause it's colder here inside in silence
Relationships: shippers dni - Relationship, theyre family - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102





	come out and play

**Author's Note:**

> heyoo i was touch starved and decided to project onto technoblade
> 
> don't know if this is coherent but. enjoy !
> 
> (dedicated to hanna my moirail ily)

Logically, you know you did this to yourself. 

You're the one who isolated yourself, sending yourself into retirement. You're the one who killed everyone, effectively making you public enemy #1. You're the one who's so blatantly an anarchist, the person who goes into soliloquies without a second thought. You're the person who puts yourself on center stage, the person who pushes people off so you can have your time in the spotlight _alone._

But _Prime_ what you wouldn't give for a hug. 

You just want your brothers again, you want your _dad._ You want Phil to talk to you about swords, the melting point of gold and iron, how to shape soft metals into a crown only the maker can wear. You want Wilbur to come ask you for words he can't remember, you want to sit while he sings you his songs and give him thoughtful criticism afterwards. You want Tommy to talk to you about what he did in the woods, the monsters he fought, the little scrapes on his hands from the trees he climbs. 

Your family meant _so much_ to you, but you tell yourself it's not your fault you're isolated. You tell yourself this as you see Tommy, in a pathetic hole, all alone. You tell yourself this as Wilbur hands over a chunk of blue, hoping it might calm you down. You tell yourself this as Phil comes over the horizon and then leaves the very same day, with no knowledge of if he might ever return. 

It takes you longer than you would like to admit to realize that what you're doing? It's not working. You come to the revelation that it's not even a full retirement, you're just taking a break while you flesh out your next plans. You're just taking a break so you can plan to see your family again. 

Phil helps you out from time to time at least. He helped you bring over supplies, he helped you transfer your beloved cow. With everything the man has done for you thus far, you think he might be a valuable asset in helping you get allies. You could name names, a very specific group of people you want on your side, but- 

You're getting off topic. 

What was the topic again?

You feed Bob every day, patting the top of his head slowly. For a moment you can see Tommy, upset because he got gum stuck in his hair. For a moment you can see Wilbur, where you used to pat him on the head as payback for being taller than you. For a moment you can see Phil, patting _you_ on the head, like you were an itty bitty pig again, telling you that you did a great, no, _amazing_ job out there, that he was proud of you, that- 

You shake the thoughts away and climb back up the ladder. Speaking of, Phil was supposed to come over today, wasn't he? That's right, he was going to bring over some coal that he had found. Not that you didn't have so much of your own, of course, and he _knows_ that, but he wants just as much as an excuse to visit as you want one for him. You hope. 

He arrives with a flap of the wings, the shine of his grey feathers looking notably less glossy. He lands in your doorway and brushes past you, his arms full of gravel and clay. You look at him as he worts your chests for you, and you can't help but wonder when you allowed your father to get into this shape. 

"Is everything okay?" 

Phil runs a hand through his hair, almost knocking off his bucket hat. "There's talk of war. Butchers. They're coming to find you. I know you won't be in any danger, but it's still a little disturbing to hear your son talked about like that." 

You draw your fur cloak around your shoulders, knowing that his eyes are tracing the outline of where at least five weapons are sitting on your body. "Are they threatenin' you?" You ask. You place a hand on the hilt of your trident so that he knows that you're able to fight at a moment's notice. Not that he would need the reminder, though. 

Phil shakes his head. "Just stressed. Worried about you, about Tommy." 

"Phil, there's no need to be worryin' over us. We'll be fine." 

"I know, just-" He pauses. "Take care of your brothers for me, okay?" 

You want to say that Tommy got himself into this mess, that it was Wilbur's fault for starting a government, that you're perfectly justified in your anger towards them. You want to say that you're not the person who needs to protect them, you're not their babysitter, they're perfectly fine on their own.

But that's not what your dad needs to hear at the moment, and some deep fraternal instinct in your gut tells you that you don't really mean ill towards them. 

"Alright. I'll- I'll give them resources next time I'm over." 

Phil smiles, and you feel a little bit of the weight in your chest lifted. He hands you stacks upon stacks of food, gives you a handful of coal you're 90% sure he got on his way here. He gives you letters, from himself, from Tommy, from Wilbur. From Eret, too, surprisingly. You hope he knows that you aren't _actually_ aware of how to rule, you just find the clothing style entertaining. 

You make your father tea, a little blend that you made from sweet berry flowers and a mint plant that refuses to die. You give him a little compass that points to your home, and his voice goes all high and quiet when he thanks you. 

Some emotion is okay, you decide. 

He hugs you on the way out, and you nearly break down right then and there. You don't, though, the tundra is cold and merciless and you know that if you were to cry you might feel the effects later. He looks at you, and you _know_ that your face is all screwed up in the way it is when you don't want to show any emotion but are close to crying. He smiles and pats your cheek, heading into the night with a kiss on your forehead to keep you company after his departure.

You spend the next few days processing that goodbye, still not totally sure that Phil was in his right mind. His love language was never physical touch, it was more of helping you with things, making sure that you were alright. To go out of his way to show such affection was rare, but maybe he knows you better than you know yourself. 

You ponder the way you got here, to this little snow cottage, your retirement home. You don't think that it was fate. 

Fate was something that would be inevitable, like the falling out between an unhappy couple. You made the _choice_ to be here, isolated. Away from anyone who could _possibly_ understand what you're going through. You _chose_ to try and farm in the cold of the tundra, to forage near the roots of spruce trees while foxes who are doing much better than you look on and laugh. 

You trade and trade your emeralds, and the villagers are amazed at your endless supply. You trade and they give you food, and they don't care about the piglin that lives on the edge of town. "He pays well," they say. "He protects our village from the monsters. He means no harm." 

You laugh to yourself when you hear that one, because you _absolutely_ mean harm, just not to them. You don't burden them with the details of your personal life, though. You just give them emeralds and they give you what you need in order to keep yourself afloat. You trade for arrows, for string, for warm soup that you can't help but wish was a little to the left. You wish it tasted like how Phil used to make it, you wish it tasted like- 

_Shit_ , that's right you- you need to go check up on your brothers. 

You gather your things hastily, trying to remember when Phil left. Was it a week? A month? You hope not, _Prime_ , you really hope it wasn't long. How long had you been thinking to yourself? How long had you been writing monologues, giving yourself the space to do absolutely nothing? What would it take for you to see that it wasn't all in your head, that everything 

You saddle your horse and take off at a run. You don't know if you locked the door on your way out and you don't care- you just have to get to your family. Your little, fractured, and bruised family. 

You crest the horizon in a way that could have been majestic if you had brushed your hair before leaving, but all the people below see is a haphazard ponytail and a lopsided crown. You didn't even bother to tighten your armor, you realize as you tie up your horse. That doesn't matter though. You need to get to your family. 

You take Wilbur's blue with grace, making a show of accepting it in a way that would make his younger self feel validated. Feel listened to, feel appreciated. You give him the same smile you gave him when he finally got a lyric the way he wanted, when he gently strummed a chord pattern over and over while he tested words upon words out, making the song as perfect as he possibly could. You touch your brother as best you can through the motion blur, and are surprised when he gives you a hug, laughing about how you're so silly for not asking for one. 

You look at Tommy with pity, the way you did so long ago when he founded Business Bay in your backyard. He looks at you with burnt-out fire in his eyes and a cut on his face that will scar horribly if he doesn't get a potion to it quickly enough. You sigh and pull out a regeneration potion and a small cloud of wool, gently dabbing it onto the wound. You tell him a story of a boy who flew too close to the sun, of a kid who was too caught up in his adrenaline to feel the fear of flying so high. You place your hands on Tommy's shoulders and tell him that though he may be Theseus, maybe he could be saved from becoming Icarus. The kid too blind to see the danger he was in, the little broken boy that was fished out of the sea after his wings burned. 

You leave them with a few dozen diamonds and a helmet with Tommy's name inscribed on the inside. He laughs at your awful handwriting and you roll your eyes and ruffle his hair, taking note of the disheveled state it's in. He needs a haircut, and you offer your services. 

He says he would take Dream over you, and honestly that's fair. 

He can tell you're stalling, and he pries into you. 

"What're you still here for, Big T?" 

You shift your weight uncomfortably, and finally hand him a compass. "If you and Wilbur ever need a place to stay," you murmur, placing it into his palm. "My house is always open." 

Tommy looks at the pendant in his hands and nods sagely, far too mature for his age. "I'll come find you," he breathes.

"Just... don't try to start a government." 

You're not sure if the joke was funny, but Tommy laughs anyway and pats you on the arm. "You don't need to worry about that, big man." 

You untie your horse- was his coat always that pristine? Someone must have cleaned him up for you, and you see a little blue mark next to his ear. Wilbur, then. You heave yourself onto him, grabbing his reigns and making sure the saddle is tight enough for you to stay secure the whole ride back. 

You look down at a tug on your cape, and you see Tommy, clutching your cape in his hands. He's looking at you with the most _broken_ eyes of anyone you have ever seen and you look at your brother and it hits a string inside of you. All the warmth and light had been drained from him, and he was alone in this terror of a world. 

You miss when your brother used to smile unapologetically, when he gave himself the title of kind and lost it the next day for a new one, when he used to create worlds and images and _love_ and _warmth_ . _Look at where the passion got him,_ some small part of you says. _He deserves this._

 _Shut up,_ you promptly tell this irrational voice. _He's my brother._

"You need somethin'?" You ask. It's not like he's not going to say it without a prompting. He looks to the side, not meeting your gaze. He's bouncing on his heels and you're sure he's going to fall from how much he's wobbling. 

"He wants to go with you!" Ghostbur calls. He's smiling a bit too wide, and you look up at him and then back down at Tommy. 

"You-?" 

Tommy nods, looking down to hide the tears you know are there. "You were right," he whispers. "You were right about everything, you-" he scrubs his face angrily. "I miss you."

You sigh. You lean down and pull him up in front of you, wrapping your cloak around him in hopes that it will be enough to shield him from the tundra's cold. "Come on, Tommy." 

He curls into you and you nearly scream at how thin he's gotten, at how fragile he is now. You notice that under his fingernails there's small chunks of blue and that they were poorly cleaned with a stick, or a knife, or-

You look back at Wilbur. "You coming?" 

"Nah!" He says. He picks up a chunk of blue that someone had left on the ground and carries it over to his ender chest. "I have ghosty places to be, ghosty things to do. I'll come visit, though! It'll be a nice vacation." 

You nod solemnly and lift your horse's reins once again. Tommy is still shivering in your lap, and you consider just giving him the whole cloak off your back. You decide against it, though, because you don't have any time to stall. You have to get Tommy to safety, to a place that he knows will still be there in the morning. 

You ride with one hand on the reins and the other keeping your brother in place, acting as a safety net for him. You hope and hope that you'll be enough to keep him from freezing half to death, but even if he does you'll be able to set him in the bed so he can respawn. It's not a heroic or just death, surely he'll be fine, right? You're going to put him in a bed anyways, because he needs to get warm above all else. _Prime,_ is it okay for a teenager to be this cold in the warmer weather they were having over there? You hope not, that would be a really bad sign if- 

You're here. 

You hastily tie Carl up and run into your house, not even bothering to close the door or knock snow off of your boots. You know that'll damage the carpet later but you don't _care_ , you have to get your baby brother into safety. 

You pull back covers and place him in your bed, the one with the heavy wool blanket and fuzzy duvet that Phil made you years ago, and you kneel down next to him, holding his hand with both of yours. In a last-ditch attempt to keep him from respawning you place blue on your bedside table and hope that it might magically do something but-

He stops breathing. You tense up, not letting yourself move.

Golden particles appear and swirl around him, covering his body in a sickeningly beautiful light before dying down and settling into him. He stirs a little, but calms down. You exhale, so relieved he's alive that you rest your head on his chest for a moment before sitting up and drawing over a chair. 

As you rub his back, watching him slowly regain life, you swear you're going to give this kid the best life he can have. _Prime_ , if any harm comes to him while he's in your care, you're going to shred this place to bits. As you see Ghostbur ride up on a horse of his own, Philza in tow, you find yourself so, _so_ grateful for the little group that you found. 

You let yourself breathe freely for the first time in years, and draw up the blankets around Tommy just a little bit more before going to greet the rest of your family.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!
> 
> if this breaks anyone's boundaries, please let me know and i will take it down!!!
> 
> if you liked this, please check out some of my other works!! most of them are one-shots, and i worked really hard on them so if you could take a look it would mean the world to me :)


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